Playing Hurt
Page 26
The first said, “He’s barely got a pulse.”
The other said, “And his blood pressure is barely there.” I still don’t know how he figured that out.
Holtz’s doctor said, “John, my name’s Kevin.” It seemed like a strange time to make introductions, but thirty seconds later he asked, “John, what’s my name?”
I didn’t have a clue—another bad sign. He turned to the crowd gathering around me. “Could someone please call 911?”
“I don’t need that,” I said. “I’m feeling better.”
I sat back up in the chair, then I remember lying back on the stone deck surrounding the pool. Next thing I knew I had an oxygen mask on, my shirt was open, someone had put EKG monitors on my chest, and paramedics were all around, getting ready to lift me to the gurney, get me into the ambulance, and rush me to the hospital.
I do remember turning to Vitale, who was white as a ghost at this point, and saying, “Dick, I’m so sorry for ruining your party.” I must have said that three times.
“John—please, please.” That was about all he could say.
More luck: one of Vitale’s doctor friends attending to me happened to work at the local hospital, just five minutes from Vitale’s house. He called ahead to the hospital to get them ready for me, then called their top cardiac surgeon—a friend of his—to tell him to get to the hospital. By the time the ambulance dropped me off, everyone knew what to do, and the cardiac surgeon was already scrubbed up and ready to go.
After they got me to the operating room the doctor pointed to the EKG machine. “See that little blip there? That could be a heart attack.”
That was the first time I’d heard anyone say those words. That got my attention. Then he turned to the nurse and said, “Catheter.” That really got my attention!
Now, I realize, ladies, that you will not understand what I’m going to say next. But all the men will. The doctor just told me I might have had a heart attack, and that alarmed me a bit. But I didn’t panic until he said, “Catheter.” Short of becoming a popular prison inmate, this is just about every man’s worst fear. And I’m thinking, “She’s going to put that damn thing where I would least like to have her put it!”
And, just that fast, that fear eclipsed everything else. That’s all I could think of! Heart attack, schmart attack—but a catheter, right where I don’t want it? Now the real fear sets in. And I’m thinking, How the hell can they get that device from my penis all the way to my heart? That’s going to be terrible! And even worse, how can they get something like that back out?!?
They told me I’d be awake through the entire procedure. Now, I just had the doctors at Mt. Sinai a few months earlier burn a pocket in my chest on local anesthesia, and I had my knee ’scoped on local anesthesia, and I was awake through both of those operations. No problem. I even watched the knee surgery on the screen. I had no reservations about staying awake through my surgery either—but damn it, if that doctor had any plans of sticking anything up my penis, he’d better have the best damn anesthesiologist in all of Florida prepared to knock me out for a day. It might even be a good idea for them to keep a room prepped for whomever I wounded when I reacted to my own procedure!
Then I got the best news of the day: they were not going to send the catheter up my penis but through my thigh. That was a great relief—one I will never forget. Gentlemen, you understand!
Even with a local anesthetic, I could kind of feel the catheter going up my leg, but I didn’t care. The doctor told me I’d probably feel it when it got to my heart, and I did.
But amazingly, I could watch on the monitor and listen to the cardiologist talk to the other doctor, who had examined me at Vitale’s house. I heard the first doctor say, “Oh, that artery looks about 50 percent blocked.”
Then the other doctor said, “I’d say that looks like about 75 to 80 percent.”
It turned out it was 90 percent blocked.
Holy smokes.
“Mr. Saunders,” the first doctor said, “you have a blockage in your coronary artery. We’re going to clear it out right now. And I’m going to put a stent in there, then we’re going to run some tests today and tomorrow, but I have to say, it looks like you’re pretty lucky.”
I resisted the urge to say, “But you’re not going to stick anything up my penis, right?”
They had me in and out of the operating room in under an hour.
Back in my room I was still kind of out of it when both doctors came in to talk to me. I thanked them profusely, then asked, “What do I say when people ask me what happened? What do I tell them?”
The second doctor looked at me, then said, “You tell them you had a heart attack. And you tell them this guy saved your life,” pointing to the first doctor, Vitale’s friend from the pool party. “John, another forty-five minutes, and you could have been in serious cardiac arrest. Thank God you weren’t somewhere by yourself or driving or on a plane, or we might not be talking right now.”
If I wasn’t surrounded by skilled doctors at Vitale’s house, professionals who knew better than to listen to the silly, macho protests of a former hockey player, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have done anything about what was happening to me. I would have laid down—and I would have died. It just didn’t seem that serious. That’s the kind of dumb guy I am!
And very, very lucky.
The next day they ran all the usual tests and came back with very good news: I had miraculously suffered zero damage to the heart muscle. Even the victims of small heart attacks almost always suffer some damage to the muscle. All of the arteries in my heart were pristine—they discovered no further collection of plaque—and even my cholesterol was good. They told me my heart attack was probably due to my diabetes, which makes all bodily functions slower, including your heart’s ability to clear plaque out of your arteries.
Dick and Lorraine Vitale visited me in the hospital a few hours each day. When I got out of the hospital on Tuesday they picked us up. All the doctors who had saved my life came by to see me out, which was nice.
Before we went to the airport the Vitales took us to breakfast. I ate one whole-wheat pancake with sugar-free syrup. After everything I’d just been through, it tasted pretty damn good.
CHAPTER 40
Learning the Best Lesson
WHEN IT WAS TIME TO FLY HOME I WAS ACTUALLY FEELING pretty good, although I dreaded having to tell my daughters I’d just had a heart attack. They’d had plenty to worry about.
I was smart enough to call Dr. D’Antonio and Dr. Douglas from Florida to let them know what had happened so I didn’t have to drop that news on them when I saw them later that week.
After I sat down in Dr. Douglas’s office, she said, “I was afraid you were going to tell me you’re sorry you didn’t die.”
“Nobody knows better than you do,” I said, “that just a few months ago that would have been the case. But sitting in that hospital bed in Florida, I realized I’ve got too many people who care about me, and I’ve got too many years left.
“I’m going to enjoy the rest of my life.”
After my heart attack I continued to recover from the lingering effects of my brain injury, but my progress was very good, and I’ve made a full recovery. By 2013 my doctors finished the two-year process of weaning me off of Klonopin, which has improved my energy, my clarity, and my moods.
About the same time I finished with Klonopin a White House staffer asked me to write and record a two-minute video for the White House’s new website, mentalhealth.gov, part of a campaign to raise awareness of mental health issues. We have every reason to take this seriously: some 65 million people in the United States and Canada have a diagnosable mental illness, half of them suffering from a serious form of depression.
The staffer who called me had no idea that I’ve battled depression my entire life, but I jumped at the chance. This is what I came up with, in part, which we shot from the set of ESPN’s Sports Reporters.
“Hi, I’m John Saunders.
“Asking a person suffering to move on is like asking a person with a broken leg to run a marathon. You wouldn’t tell someone who can’t walk to get out of bed.
“What is needed is understanding and help. And there is help. Tell your family, tell a friend, and, just as important, tell your doctor. He or she will be determined to get you the right person to change your life.
“Not only should you talk about it, you need to talk about it.
“We must learn to recognize the signs and reach out to those we know are in trouble.
“Be the one who reaches out to save someone.
“Or maybe it’s you: be the one to save yourself.”
The White House followed up with an invitation to the first National Conference on Mental Health on Monday, June 3, 2013. I had met President Obama during a shoot for ESPN when he made his NCAA basketball tournament picks, but this was something else.
I waited in the Green Room with Bradley Cooper, whose character in the groundbreaking movie The Silver Linings Playbook suffers from bipolar disorder, and Glenn Close, a longtime activist for mental health whose sister, Jennie, suffers from bipolar disorder. Glenn founded BringChange2Mind, a US campaign to eradicate the discrimination surrounding mental illness.
She told us when she tried to research her character for Fatal Attraction—before the Internet age, obviously—she was amazed how little she could find about the disease. She said the movie originally ended with her character taking her own life, but when they screened that ending with test audiences, they hated it. So they changed it, with Michael Douglas’s character’s wife killing her. The audience loved it, of course—but Close didn’t. She was very upset and fought to get them to go back to the original ending, because it was clear to her that’s what someone in that role would have done. No luck, of course—but that’s Hollywood.
I talked with Glenn about my sister, Gail, and about Glenn’s sister and her nephew, who also suffer from depression. Mental illness doesn’t seem to have much regard for race or religion, wealth or education. It affects just about all Americans, one way or the other.
When I met the president, he said, “Hi, John! How have you been?”
“Mr. President, it’s been a while.”
“John, it hasn’t been that long. You were just here six months ago!”
When he asked what had brought me there, I explained how mental health issues have affected my family through my sister. He thanked me for attending, then promised me we’d win this battle.
When the president took the stage before 150 people, he said we should treat mental illness the same way we treat cancer or diabetes—as a disease, and with the same organized efforts to reduce the threat.
“We wouldn’t accept it if only 40 percent of Americans with cancer got treated,” he said. “We wouldn’t accept it if only half of young people with diabetes got help. Why should we accept it when it comes to mental health? It doesn’t make any sense.”
He added that people who suffer from mental illnesses still face a huge stigma, with 60 percent of Americans saying they wouldn’t want to live next door to someone with a mental health problem—even though many of them already do.
When I took my seat on the train back to New York, Vice President Joe Biden happened to be standing right next to my seat, so I seized the opportunity.
“Mr. Vice President,” I said, “I was just at the White House conference and heard you speak.”
Before I could say any more he looked at me and said, “You work for ESPN! You’re John Saunders, right?”
Then he took the seat next to me. When we discussed the conference he stressed how we must get athletes who suffer from depression to come out and admit their struggles. They’re too often hidden, he said, because they fear how they’ll be perceived in “the macho world of the invincible!” He puffed up his chest as he said it.
“Heck, John, right now it’s easier for a pro athlete to come out and admit they’re gay than it is for someone suffering from depression to admit that! We’ve got to do something about that!”
He was right, of course. I didn’t tell him that I suffered from depression or that I’d already started working on this book, but I hope he sees it now—and I hope it helps.
For someone like me who suffers from depression, life is never as simple as “happily ever after.” Like cancer survivors and recovering alcoholics, our disease is rarely far away, and it can always resurface. I have gone through more ups and downs since then, but the ups have been higher, and the downs not as deep or as long. The overall trajectory of my health has continued upward.
These days there’s nothing I love more than seeing old friends, playing golf with Bernie, and hanging out with Wanda and our girls, whether we’re watching a movie, listening to music together, or just doing nothing. It helps that I listen to the same music my daughters do, and we’ve even gone to concerts together.
I don’t go a day without telling my wife and daughters how much I love them, even during frequent trips. I do not leave the house without kissing them goodbye, whether it’s six in the morning or six at night.
Aleah and Jenna are my life. They’ve given me far more than I could have imagined. They started calling me “Daddy” from the start. They still do, and it melts me every time.
My wife and daughters are doing great, and my work is going well. I still have bad days and even bad weeks. But bit by bit, day by day, I’m getting better and better.
Imagine that.
We probably looked like a model family, but life behind closed doors was far from picture perfect. Bernie and Gail (with our younger cousin Loretta) were my two biggest supporters, a real blessing. I can’t imagine making it through childhood without them. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)
In Chateauguay, a suburb of Montreal, I was a top hockey player and the class vice-president. I was also fighting my father, getting into Jimi Hendrix, and eventually, “self-medicating.” Turbulent times, indeed. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)
Bernie and I fought like brothers do, but I was thrilled when he joined me at Western Michigan. When he made it to the NHL, I was so proud I ran the tape on Toronto TV—twice! He’s my best friend. (Courtesy of Western Michigan University Athletics)
When I met Wanda I said, “You are the most beautiful girl I have ever met,” and I was right. When we talked, I was convinced she was the woman I was meant to marry. I was right about that, too. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)
I’m filled with insecurities, but not when it comes to work. It’s the one place I always feel completely comfortable and confident. Well, almost always! Recovering from my brain injury, on national TV, wasn’t easy. (Courtesy of ESPN)
I didn’t know how to spell ESPN before I accepted their offer in 1986, but my timing couldn’t have been better. We were adding the NFL, the NBA, and MLB, and I was starting lifelong friendships with Boomer and Bob. (Courtesy of ESPN)
When Jim and I shared a ride to Philly, I knew I’d found a kindred spirit, a father figure, and a best friend, who would never betray me. He even taught me how to hug. (Courtesy of ESPN)
I was afraid to repeat my father’s mistakes. But when we had Aleah, I found a deeper love that day for my new daughter, for my wife, and even a little for myself. When Jenna came along, it just multiplied. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)
Wanda, Aleah, and Jenna are my life. They’ve given me far more than I could have imagined. The girls started calling me “Daddy” from the start. They still do, and it melts me every time. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)
Of all the shows I’ve done, The Sports Reporters might be my favorite. It’s fast-and-furious, fun, and often funny. Our panelists know their stuff, especially these three—Mitch Albom, Bob Ryan, and Mike Lupica�
��who also happen to be great friends. (Courtesy of ESPN)
I never tell Wanda to watch me, except after the college football title game: “Did you see me?” But not in 2012. Once I stepped off the stage, I was right back to where I was before: down in the dumps. (Courtesy of ESPN)
In 2013, the White House invited me to the first National Conference on Mental Health, along with Glenn Close, Bradley Cooper, and others. When President Obama asked what had brought me there, I mentioned my sister, because I was still too afraid to talk about my own struggles. (Official White House Photo by Pete Souza)
My love for my daughters is so strong, it’s often helped keep me going. So it’s ironic that my fear of losing them can sometimes eclipse the fun we’re having. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)
After my heart attack in 2012, I realized I’ve got too many people who care about me, and I’ve got too many years left, to stop now. I decided to enjoy the rest of my life. And that’s what I’m doing. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)
My surprise 60th birthday party. “Thanks to all of you, it’s getting easier for me to enjoy life. I can’t begin to tell you how much you mean to me.” That included Robin Roberts, a loyal friend, and a fighter. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)
There’s nothing I love more than seeing old friends, playing golf with Bernie, and being with Wanda and our girls. I still have bad days and bad weeks. But bit by bit, day by day, I’m getting better and better. Imagine that. (Courtesy of the Saunders Family)